While I didn't take any time off over the holidays, there was a silver lining. I posted something about reading Rosamond Bernier's Some of My Lives as a substitute for joining friends in Mexico, and a mutual friend is taking me to meet her tonight. I have been beside myself for days, although I've settled on a white sheath with a white coat (by Cozbi) and a grey stole, and the rings I had made in homage to Edith Sitwell, by the publisher of New Directions. I had hoped to gin up some suitable adventures by now but the only notable thing is that I ate escargots for the first time the other night at Balthazar. The man who persuaded me will likely win the Pulitzer for his next novel, but it's not out yet. A small tale, for now, but one I suspect will get better with age.